


Five Times Dean Said the Wrong Thing and One Time He Didn't

by dimeliora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a habit of saying the dumbest and most embarrassing thing possible, and Sam is sick of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Dean Said the Wrong Thing and One Time He Didn't

**5\. Pink Floyd “Another Brick in the Wall”**

 

Sam has read Chuck’s books. He’s also read some of the fanfiction that’s based off of them. He knows that the majority of the aha moments are saved for his character, and that all of the witty one-liners are given to Dean’s.

And while it was true that often Sam put two and two together that was just because he had taken over the research half of their work. Dean was just as capable of deduction and revelation as Sam. His brother was just a little bit lazier. Ok. A whole lot lazier.

The thing that the books, and the fans, missed entirely though was that Dean was super smart when it came to mysteries, but that he was also capable of saying the dumbest shit humanly possible. Chuck had written Dean as the typical superhero, firing off the one-liner before delivering the death blow. And sure, Dean was capable of wit. Sam wouldn’t deny that.

But he _would_ point out that Dean rarely used it. Especially when it came to one-liners and monster killing.

When Dean did open his mouth in those situations it was always to say something so horribly dumb that Sam found himself wanting to go into a dark room and curl up in horror. Sam had always been that way. Intensely sensitive to embarrassment and shame. He would sit beside Dean while movies played out a character publicly shaming themselves and grip his hands so tight his knuckles would turn white. Sam would turn his head away, disconnect before the horror of the moment overtook him for the poor fictional person on screen.

Maybe it came from being a kid that often said or did the wrong thing because he hadn’t been given the chance to experience what the other kids were experiencing.

Or maybe Sam is just not equipped to laugh at it the way other people are.

Either way when Sam and Dean break into the haunted classroom to find a group of thrill-seeking kids hunkered down in the corner and Dean, who is supposed to be distracting the ghost while Sam takes its riding crop and salts and burns it, cries out, “Hey, Teacher, leave those kids alone!” Sam spasms with that same bone-deep horror.

His hands falter for just a half second, and he sees the kids across the room break from their own fear just long enough to shoot Dean looks of confusion and disdain.

And then Sam is burning the riding crop and the kids are thanking and crying and leaving, and the whole time Dean is standing there an oblivious idiot with a proud grin on his face.

Sam will never tell his brother what a fool he made of himself.

**4\. America “A Horse with No Name”**

They are bruised and battered, and Sam is happy to be back in the run down little hotel room. The water pressure is actually pretty good, and he stands under it and washes off Hippocampus blood and sea salt.

Outside there is still a storm raging, rain battering against the little window of the bathroom and the wind screaming around the corners of the building.

Inside Sam is covered in soap, his back resting against Dean’s chest as his brother slowly jerks him off. He can feel the firmness of Dean’s cock against his ass, and he isn’t sure if this is going to go anywhere or if Dean is just going to bring Sam off and then finish himself. It happens that way sometimes.

They’ve long since passed that urgent beginning where every time they had a chance to get their hands on each other it had to be everything all at once. Sam likes it better this way. There’s no clock, no scorecard, just casual touches, soft kisses, easy interaction.

Sure every now and then it gets desperate, wild, and Sam enjoys the urgency and rush too. But this feels more like…a relationship. Like a union instead of a port in a storm.

He’s close too. He can feel it. And Dean can too. His brother’s hand slows on his dick, fingers alternating points of pressure and weight as he manipulates Sam’s cock. Dean’s other hand runs up his ribs, skimming lightly over the bruises where a curved tail slapped into him and then pressing harder when they reach Sam’s nipple.

Sam tilts his head back, resting it on Dean’s shoulder and widening his stance. He loves when Dean does this. Loves how Dean has learned exactly where to touch and when. His brother is a deft study when the topic interests him.

Fingers pinch Sam’s nipple, just short of pain, and then swirl and brush before leaving his chest entirely to move down and fondle Sam’s sack. Dean rolls his balls gently, moving them in time with the manipulations of Sam’s shaft. He can hear himself moaning, but that’s about it over the roar of the shower and the storm. Dean is utterly silent.

Which should be the first warning that his brother is up to something more than a casual jerk off session.

Dean’s teeth scrape his earlobe, and Sam arches and hits just this edge of critical mass. He reaches back, rests a hand on the tightly corded muscles of Dean’s thigh and digs in. Suggests silently that Dean should speed up just that little bit to get Sam _there._

“You remember all that research you did for this one?”

Sam nods, breath coming in short and sharp gasps as he feels Dean continue to manipulate his balls. They’re trying to draw up, trying to release, and Sam _needs it_.

“But it was so rare. The fucking, whatchamacallits. Who would have guessed that?”

And at this point, even though he knows what they were, even though Sam read over fifty accumulated pages of info on the monsters, he can’t think of their name.

“What were they called Sammy?”

Dean sounds victorious, triumphant, and his teeth scrape Sam’s shoulder as his hand speeds up just the _tiniest_ bit.

“No-nothing Dean they weren’t named fucking anything. _Finish_.”

“Oh.” Dean bites his shoulder then and Sam feels like he’s hanging over the edge of a cliff waiting for the drop, his stomach twisted into knots. “Are you saying we fought a horse with no name before we got out of the rain?”

His orgasm dies. Literally dies. Sam’s stomach curls in an unpleasant way and he shoots one elbow sharply into Dean’s gut and listens to his brother’s harsh intake of breath before turning the shower off and storming out.

Dean is the biggest idiot on the fucking planet.

 

**3.  Janis Joplin “Piece of My Heart”**

There’s been a rash of houses being…crushed is the best word for it in Perry, Minnesota. It’s an out of the way town with a population under a thousand and wilderness all around it. Officials are blaming the earthquakes the area has been experiencing recently, but Sam and Dean have seen the houses up close and personal and there is no way that this is due to structural flaws and natural disasters.

On the other hand they’ve been here four days and have yet to figure out a culprit. They _have_ seen a pattern in the victims though, and they’re pretty sure they know exactly who’s going to be hit next.

With that in mind the two of them are hunkered down in the barn closest to the house located on the 180 acre Marley Ranch. The owner of the ranch, Augustus Marley, is one of several ranchers that have started looking into moving their operations to Wyoming and selling their land to developers.

Because of this the current favorite suspect is a witch, but Sam isn’t sure about that. He thinks that Dean’s bias may be making his brother jump the gun a bit. There have been no hex bags found in the rubble, and they’ve checked and cleared the majority of the people who were most vocal about keeping Perry free of housing developments.

Dean is peeking out of the window as Sam does low squats to keep his leg muscles ready for running. He hears a noise he knows too well and turns to see Dean eyeing him instead of the situation.

His brother is smiling that ridiculous little smirk he always gets before he makes a move outside of the safety of a hotel room, and Sam thinks that there’s a good chance that this will be the first time he tells Dean to fuck off instead of taking interest back.

And for about four seconds that’s true, until Dean licks his lips and Sam feels his cock jump in response.

Dean doesn’t do anything Sam expects though. He doesn’t move forward, doesn’t reach for Sam, and doesn’t gesture for him to come closer. Instead Dean leans back against the barn wall and unzips his pants. Sam watches as Dean turns his head, fixing his eyes out of the window where he’s supposed to have them even as his fingers slowly pop the button on his jeans and expose the fact that Dean is definitely not wearing underwear.

_What the fuck._

Sam takes a deep breath, definitely all in now as Dean frees his cock and starts to stroke himself. His brother is already half hard, and Sam moans as he watches Dean’s throat work, Dean swallowing as he pleasures himself. There’s something more illicit in it than them being on someone else’s property, in the middle of a hunt, and definitely not in a place where they should be getting hot and bothered.

His brother is long predatory lines, his legs bent slightly and tight, his back arched, his cock hard and proud in his hand, and his eyes hooded as they stare out of the window. It’s almost like Sam is watching this without Dean knowing. He can feel his heart speeding up, his breath catching in his throat as Dean works himself over with sure and fast strokes.

There is no teasing here. Dean is on a mission. And sure enough when his brother’s lips part, when that little sound Sam has come to know so well makes itself know, Dean spills out through his own fingers and onto the straw. Sam wipes his mouth afraid he is drooling.

And then Dean tucks himself away and turns his eyes to Sam, for just a second, before the earth begins to shake. The barn around them vibrates with it, and Dean is thrown off balance because of his splay-legged stance and thrown into the hay.

Sam helps him up and they both step out of the door. He doesn’t know what he expects to see, but it’s certainly not a giant foot descending onto the landscaped lawn in front of the opulent ranch house. He follows the foot up to a monstrously sized ankle, along a bare and hairy leg, connecting to a pelvis, torso, and head that stops even with the top of the tree line.

A giant.

Beside him Dean whistles, eyes narrowed in what Sam knows is begrudging surprise. Dean loves and hates being confronted with things that they thought were simply myth.

His brother jerks his head once, sharply and to the left, and Sam gathers his legs and nods. He lets out a wail and runs full speed, watching as the giant turns and looks at him. Dean is several steps behind, calculating the proper amount of space, and Sam tries to pick up speed so that Dean doesn’t have to work so hard to keep the right distance.

There has never been an explanation for why Dean’s shorter legs can move so much more quickly.

And then the giant sweeps one huge hand down to Sam, and Sam hits the ground and rolls, feels the digits slide across his back without getting a grip.

He’s half up, still moving from the original roll, when the giant lets out a roar that shakes the ground and knocks Sam off balance. He hits the grass again and rolls, just missing being stomped on as the giant begins to flail. Sam can’t figure out why at first, and then he sees it. Dean has ridden the giant’s hand up on its swing, and he is now climbing the thing’s chest.

Sam is breathless, horrified, and he holds out one hand like he can use it to bring Dean back down, to take back his brother’s foolhardy move.

But it’s too late, and Sam can only watch as Dean sinks his knife into the left side of the giant’s chest and slides down, ripping open a tunnel in the thing’s flesh as he goes.

The giant teeters, rocks, and then falls backwards in slow motion crushing the house they were trying to save. Sam finds his feet and he’s running, moving as fast as he can even though he’s still not breathing and he’s pretty sure his heart has stopped.

He hears the noise and turns his head, feet still moving to the fallen giant and Dean, only to see the owners’ of the house who they thought would be gone all night getting out of their car with the most confused and flabbergasted faces Sam has ever dreamt of.

And then he’s there, thrashing through the rubble, the head of the ranch right behind, until he reaches the giant’s chest. There’s a hole there, and Sam looks all around but he can’t see Dean.

Sam turns back to the giant’s chest when the rancher lets out a noise of disgust and fear. He sees that the flesh is moving, and then it pushes back and Dean comes out dripping in blood and holding what can only be a small portion of what used to be the giant’s beating heart.

Dean looks at the rancher, and then his eyes cut to Sam and his mouth curls into a hideous and bloody grin. And Sam, despite his relief, despite the wooziness of a metric fuckton of adrenaline dumping out of his system, feels the sympathetic shame readying itself at the look on his brother’s face.

“Hey Sammy.” Dean holds out his hand with the chunk of cardiac muscle. “Take another little piece of my heart.”

 

**2\. Dire Straits “Sultans of Swing”**

 

Sam is trying to slip through the museum silently, not sure how far ahead Dean is. The place is entirely too interested in setting up their exhibits as realistic environments instead of collections of items behind glass. Because of that this Middle Eastern exhibition is hot and dry, and Sam’s sweat level is at a ten. He picks his shirt away from his chest and waves a cloud of incense out of his face.

_Wait_.

The place has been closed for three hours, so why the fuck is incense burning?

Sam sniffs delicately, places it as myrrh with an undertone of cinnamon, and swallows. He can see a three wise men joke coming from a mile away, and Sam preemptively wants to hit Dean in the back of the head.

Except he doesn’t have time to think about that because as he crosses underneath the huge and intricate star shaped chandelier a dark shadow lumbers in front of him and hits him so hard Sam is thrown backward. His legs slam into a low couch and he rolls backwards cracking his shoulder and his head hard on the wood floor.

Looming above him is a dry rotted figure, the corpse of one of the last great Ottoman Empire sultans. Sam has never understood why anyone would want to risk the horror of the walking dead to stare at a mummy. He has time to think about that as his head rings and the sultan reaches for him.

And then there’s a noise, and the smell of cinnamon grows stronger. The thing is split in half, the top part smashing into the chandelier and hanging, rocking back and forth. The lower half takes one step and then crumples.

Dean is standing over it, a machete in his hand and his eyes fixed on the hanging corpse half. Without turning his head Dean points with the machete and grins that stupid shit eating grin.

“Hey Sammy, it’s the sultan of swing.”

It’s so much worse than he expected Sam passes out in disgust.

 

**1\. AC/DC “Thunderstruck”**

Since he was young there has always been something hypnotic for Sam about storms. They both scare him and soothe him. The flash of the lightning always makes him think that there’s something moving slow just out of sight. Something that will be illuminated for just that brief flash and then dropped back into darkness as it slides silently along the floor towards him.

But the thunder, loud and booming, tells him how far the storm is. Allows him to predict the intensity of the lightning strikes, the danger that he’s really in, and because of that Sam loves the booming almost as much as he fears the flash that precedes it.

It was Dean that taught Sam this trick. When he was young his brother came in to find Sam hunkered down in the closet, hand wrapped around one of Dad’s knives and a blanket around his shoulders. Dean had sat down next to Sam, wrapped an arm around him, and pulled him in close before he whispered in Sam’s ear the secret to counting the seconds before the boom. The mystery of storms removed.

Maybe it’s poetic that Sam often finds now when there’s a storm Dean’s arms are wrapped around him in a different way. Now Sam is on his knees on the bed, shoulders pressed against the comforter and ass in the air, and Dean is blanketing him and moving slow and steady inside of him.

They’ve been at it for a while, longer than they usually go, and Sam isn’t sure why Dean is taking his sweet time. But quietly, and only in his own head, Sam counts the seconds between the flashes of lightning through the closed blinds and the rumble of thunder.

Oddly, as the gap begins to increase so too does Dean’s speed. When the lightning flashes Dean picks up the pace, cock moving inside Sam hard and hot, hand stroking along Sam’s length, mouth pressing tightly against Sam’s shoulder.

When the thunder rumbles Dean slows, hips rolling smoothly and softly, and Sam finds himself pushing back hard to get the speed to return.

It keeps going that way, Dean fucking him hard and fast as the lightning illuminates the room they’re in and throws their joined shadows onto the wall, and then hips slowing and breath drawing in deep and wet against Sam’s skin as the windows rattle slightly with the force of the thunder.

And then there is a double strike of lightning, so bright that Sam can see the hairs on his arm and the details of the dark blanket underneath him, and Dean jerks his hips hard brushing his cock against Sam’s prostate and twists his hand just right so that the friction pulls the full length and envelops the sensitive head of his dick and Sam is coming as the thunder rumbles around them and shakes the world outside.

It’s almost a moment of clarity, a thing that Sam knows can be produced by particularly monumental orgasms, and Sam feels so connected to Dean and the world around him in that moment that he thinks he might be about to have a revelation.

Dean is moving behind him still, riding Sam through his orgasm, and his brother brushes his lips against Sam’s ear and speaks in a low and sultry tone that promises only more pleasure on the other side of Sam’s orgasm.

“You’ve been…thunderstruck.” Dean punctuates his sentence with a jerk of hips that signals his own orgasm, and Sam is unable to twist away in time.

AC/DC. _Goddamn Dean_.

When it’s over and Sam’s legs are no longer twitching he slides away from Dean, rolls off the bed, and crosses the room. He pulls two water bottles out of the fridge and twists the caps off before taking long gulps of one.

Dean makes gimme hands, and Sam crosses the room only slightly awkwardly before tilting the bottle and dumping the cold liquid all over his brother’s crotch.

The wails make the whole experience a little bit better.

 

**And One Time He Didn’t**

 

Sam knows what’s coming.

This hunt has gone every kind of sideways it possibly can and that sort of antagonism from fate is always met by some stupid and foolhardy bullshit from Dean. The worst example is still Monument, Colorado when Dean felt so trapped and fucked that he needed to quote Bob Marley in the face of Henricksen’s awakening to the supernatural.

Made even worse by the fact that Sam is not able to bring the example up in fights due to their mutual guilt over the death of the FBI agent.

They are in a hotel in California where Sam was certain that they would be facing a ghost. Dean has made _Shining_ jokes, he’s made _Queen Mary_ references, but he’s saved the most obvious for the end of their hunt. Sam has seen it dancing just on the horizon, a looming horror that he is unable to stop.

Except they’ve scoured the ground and the history and it makes no sense for it to be a ghost. The only people that have died there have been those that have been going in the last three weeks, despite the information given on the haunted history flyer. Without an obvious supernatural explanation they expanded their search to less obvious things.

But by the time Sam woke up to a rope around his neck they had ruled out a tulpa, ghouls, witches, psychics, and sirens. There’s nothing left it seems.

Dean storms out of the room headed downstairs to the hotel bar, his mood so dark Sam can practically see it hanging around Dean like storm clouds. In Dean’s absence Sam decides to order room service and enjoy the bathtub. The meal comes promptly, and Sam tips with money Dean made hustling down the street and then sips his juice and types rapidly on the laptop while devouring the Caesar salad.

The kitchen here is excellent, which almost makes up for the fact that people keep hanging themselves.

About halfway through the salad Sam gets tired. So tired he can’t even close his laptop. He lays back on the bed with the machine running warm on his lap and listens to the hum of the air-conditioning unit and the creaks and groans of the old building.

Then there is darkness, and when Sam awakes he is choking. Choking and hanging, and Dean is struggling with someone in front of him. Sam struggles too, tries to grab at the rope but his hands are tied and his vision is starting to fill with spots that he can’t seem to blink away.

Dean lets out a roar, anguish and rage, and then he sweeps the legs out from under a man Sam’s dying brain recognizes as the bellhop. When the guy falls Dean follows him down, and without pausing or slowing his brother grips the bellhop’s hair and smashes his head into the wooden floor once, twice, a third time until the man stops struggling and starts twitching weakly.

Then Dean is there, undoing the rope and lowering Sam tenderly, untying his hands, and Sam waits for it. He waits for the _Eagles_ reference to come out and hit him in the face.

Except it doesn’t.

Instead his brother lays him on the bed and checks him over, looks closely at Sam’s throat, Sam’s face, and oddly Sam’s fingers.

And then he’s being flipped over and his face is down in the pillow and his pajama pants are being pulled down around his ankles. Sam takes in a breath, feels the burn in his throat, and then Dean’s tongue is slipping between his ass checks and pressing against his hole.

There are a hundred really _really_ good arguments for Sam to make right now, not the least of which is how bad his throat hurts or the corpse on the floor ten feet from the bed.

But Sam can’t. He’s dizzy and sensitive and Dean’s tongue is hot and wet dragging in circles around his hole. Sam turns his head away so he’s looking at the wall and pushes back against Dean’s tongue asking for more. Usually when his brother rims him Dean’s hands are all over Sam, rubbing and stroking, but they are oddly missing right now.

Instead all Sam has to hold him steady is the bed underneath him and what little strength is left in his arms and legs. Dean’s tongue keeps circling. Pressing and dragging, pressing and dragging, until Sam relaxes and opens up for Dean to plunge in without too much resistance. His brother lets out a low and pained moan, and Sam tries to look but he doesn’t have the strength to push up enough to get a view.

And then Dean’s tongue wiggles out of him and his brother flips him over. Sam feels his eyes flying wide at the sight of Dean. His brother’s eyes are huge, his face pale with freckles standing out, and his jeans and underwear have magically disappeared.

The mystery of Dean’s missing hands is solved when his brother slides down his cock with little resistance, fully prepped and ready for Sam’s girth.

Sam gasps, winces at the rush of air, and then Dean’s swollen lips are pressed against his throat and his tight ass slides up and down Sam’s cock.

“Alive. You’re alive.”

It’s too much and Sam can’t help. Can’t do anything but lay there and feel his muscles jerk and sway under the assault of pleasure and confusion. Dean’s tight and hot around him, Dean’s mouth pressing soft and gentle even as he rides Sam like his life depends on it.

He doesn’t last long. Dean twists his hips and rubs his cock against Sam’s stomach as he stretches further out over Sam and Sam jerks underneath Dean filling his brother up with his come.

Dean stays on top, riding Sam through his orgasm before grabbing his own dick and jerking a half dozen times so he spills hot across Sam’s stomach.

In the aftermath they lay that way, Dean stretched over Sam and the room silent save for their harsh gasping.

And in a moment of what may be considered hysteria Sam says it so that Dean can’t.

“You can check out, but you can never leave.”

There’s a noise and then Dean pinches his hip and the pain is bright and sharp.

“That ain’t funny Sammy. Poor timing.”

Sam is going to kill his brother.


End file.
